


Delivery

by Ricky B (littletoes101)



Series: Couple [LuckDallas] [7]
Category: Baccano!
Genre: Birth, M/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletoes101/pseuds/Ricky%20B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few chapters detailing the before, during, and after the birth of Luck and Dallas’s first child. Take heed because there’s probably gonna be some graphic stuff and, of course, foul language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: May 28th, 10:00 P.M

Dallas’s back _hurts_. That’s the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up in the middle of the night in a good amount of pain, but that’s not new. He’s been pregnant for almost nine months now – he’s due May 30 th – and his back has been one of the primary sources of most of his aching in the last few months. The fact that his body isn’t made for this is painfully obvious as he pushes himself up on his elbows, groaning softly. For some reason, he feels like he’s in more pain tonight than he has been in the past few days. Hopefully, he thinks, this may be the beginning of labor. As terrified as Dallas is of giving birth, he’s done being pregnant and is totally ready for everything to be over.

His soft groan of pain manages to wake Luck, who hasn’t been sleeping heavily within the past few weeks to begin with. He’s afraid that something will happen suddenly to Dallas, for some reason, and he’ll be too far gone in sleep to hear anything. Normally, Luck could sleep through a hailstorm of bullets, but for the past few nights the slightest noise has been enough to wake him. He rolls over in his spot and looks at Dallas, his expression undeniably tired but also incredibly worried.

“You okay?” Luck asks, voice slightly slurred with sleep.

Dallas reaches over and strokes the hair out of his eyes with one hand. “Yeah, my back hurts like hell though. I’ll be alright, ‘s prob’ly just your kid kickin’ me again.”

“Funny how it’s only my kid when you’re in pain,” Luck yawns, his eyes half-closing just by the effort of trying to keep them open.

“Yeah, funny,” Dallas says back, sarcasm dripping from his words. Luck gives a semi-conscious chuckle in return as he gets up, making his way to the doorway before leaning against it heavily. A wave of pain passes over him, squeezing his body tightly for a few moments before it finally passes. Dallas holds his breath through it, then lets it all go in one long groan when it’s over, his brow furrowing as he thinks about what that means.

Deciding getting himself a glass of water can wait, Dallas gets back to the bed and sits down, leaning over and gripping his knees tightly with both hands. His eyes go to the clock, and he counts the minutes between that last shock of pain to the next one – fifteen minutes.

_Okay_ , he thinks, trying to slow his rapid heartbeat. _Doesn’t mean anything. Maiza said four contractions an hour, that was two._

Dallas’s eyes stay glued to the clock for the next half hour. He tries not to make a whole lot of noise at first, not wanting Luck to get back up again. If his assumptions are correct, the last thing he needs is for his husband to be half-awake and stumbling through the house. The last time that happened, they ended up with four broken vases.

When two more contractions run through his body, both almost exactly fifteen minutes apart, Dallas turns to push on Luck’s shoulder. “Hey, get up. You actually kinda’ _need_ to get up this time.”

Luck mutters something unintelligible, but he opens his eyes, rolling on his back to look up at Dallas. “Yeah?”

“I think,” Dallas starts to say, his words punctuated by a few heavy pants, “I think I’m in labor. It’s for real this time.”


	2. Part 2: May 28th, 1936, shortly after 10:00 PM

For a minute, Luck just stands there like he doesn't know what Dallas just said. Then, when it finally translates into meaningful words through his sleep-deprived brain, his words come out in a rush; “Really? Right now? Are you okay, do we need to call someone, how far apart are they – ”

“Calm the fuck down,” Dallas says, lifting one hand as if to physically stop him from talking. The motion seems to stem the tide of words coming from Luck's mouth, and he stops, jaw slightly ajar. It would be funnier if Dallas wasn't in pain. “It hurts, but I can deal for right now, alright?” As he says that, the hand he isn't holding up to stop Luck curls into the sheets, and he grunts softly with the dull pain of another contraction passing through him.

“Are you sure?” Luck notices Dallas's discomfort, and he reaches out to take his free hand. Dallas nods, slowly pulling himself back fully on to the bed and leaning against the pillows piled against the headboard. Dallas squeezes Luck's hand, but not too hard. It hurts, but Dallas isn't going to start screaming anytime soon, he thinks.

“We can hold off for a little bit, prob'ly,” Dallas says. His other hand goes to his stomach and rubs gently, as if to ease some of the aches. “I mean – call Maiza 'f you really wanna, but I don't think we'll need 'im here for a while.”

Luck understands his words; while he knows that Maiza's help is needed, Dallas is a very private individual when it comes to such intimate manners. He's not going to want anyone else to be there for a second more than they need to be while this is happening. “Okay. Is there anything you want right now?” He asks gently, running his thumb over Dallas's knuckles.

“Water,” Dallas says in a sigh. “With ice. Lots of it.”

“Alright, if it gets worse you tell me, okay?” Luck says as he gets up.

Dallas rolls his eyes. “I'll be alright for five minutes, Luck. Baby's not comin' that fast.” Luck seems to hesitate, but he takes Dallas's word for it, and starts off for the kitchen to get him what he wants.

Surprisingly, this is going to be the easiest part of the night.


End file.
